


Protected

by wallaby24



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallaby24/pseuds/wallaby24
Summary: Theresa comes back to Downing Street after the mob outside the church after the Grenfell fire.





	Protected

**Author's Note:**

> I know people want a happy Philresa fic, and I promise to do that at some point...but awful things keep happening to her, which then gets reflected in the fics. (And also, I HATE everything that's happening to her right now, but it makes me feel a lot better to remember she goes home every night to Philip.)
> 
> This is for Politics & Turtles, who requested a fic set after Theresa left the church.

“Theresa?” she heard Philip’s voice call as soon as she opened the door to their flat, and she had barely had time to set her purse down before he was bursting into the hallway. “Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried, so worried…” He had gently taken hold of her arms and was scanning his eyes over her frantically. “Are you hurt? Do you think you’ve been bruised anywhere? Did your legs hit anything?” His hands were everywhere at once, stroking through her hair and touching her face and running gently over her shoulders and arms as though in search of some injury.

It hadn’t occurred to her at the time, but he had clearly seen some news report about what had happened twenty minutes earlier as she’d left the church. If he thought she might be injured, he was obviously lacking details, but of course a headline to the effect of “Prime Minister’s Car Ambushed” would have terrified him.

She meant to tell him she was fine physically, that she had merely hurried to the car and climbed in on her own as the police had held back the crowds, but no words came when she opened her mouth, and instead she started to cry. Not the quiet tears that had slowly spilled over and turned from there into floods on election night, but huge sobs that swept over her and left her unable to speak or hardly breathe. She knew it would only alarm Philip further, but she couldn’t stop.

“Where are you hurt, darling?” His voice was tight with worry that was steadily progressing into panic, but all she could do was shake her head. “Theresa, tell me what’s happened.”

“I–I’m _not_ ,” she managed.

“You’re not…you’re not hurt?” he asked, and she shook her head again. “Are you sure?” She nodded, and he drew her into his arms, kissing her cheek as she laid her head against his shoulder.

“Were you just frightened?” Philip asked, and after a second’s thought, she nodded. She hadn’t known it at the time, but yes, that was it. She’d been frightened, absolutely terrified, as she’d been rushed from the building. And now that she was home and safe, with her husband carefully examining her for injuries and holding her tightly, it was all pouring out. She felt almost like a toddler who falls and doesn’t know to cry until a parent fusses over it.

“My precious girl,” he whispered, kissing her again. “My precious, precious girl.” The phrase only made her cry harder, for “murderer” and the wide range of crude words she had been called suddenly hurt even more in contrast.

“Th–they…they shouted…” she began, but she didn’t know how she would ever repeat any of it to him.

“I know what they shouted,” he said. There was another kiss, but she could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface, and the hands stroking her back trembled slightly. “I know.” He paused. “And that was _absolutely inexcusable_. All of it.”

“I’m t–trying to get it–it _right_ ,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what they…what they _want_ from me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Another kiss. “You’re already doing everything right. It’s a mob. They’re not rational.”

“I’m just…I’m _trying_.” That was the worst of it…just like the election, she’d tried and tried to get it right, and it hadn’t mattered. Her best wasn’t good enough, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

“And you’re doing very, _very_ well,” he said gently. “Shh, darling, shh.”

But it felt good to cry, she was discovering, to let the fear and hurt of the last hour, and the stress of the last week, pour out onto Philip’s shoulder. She rested there for a few moments longer, leaning against him, vaguely aware that her own weight was almost too much for her and letting herself be comforted by his arms and his presence, until she slowly became conscious of a faint-but-growing whistle in the background.

“What is that?”

He was smiling as she raised her head and pulled back slightly. “It’s the water for your tea…I thought you might want a cup. Should we go add the leaves?”

She nodded and slipped her hand into his, letting him lead her to the kitchen, where she leaned against the counter as he added a scoop of Earl Grey leaves to the kettle and set out a tea tray with cups and saucers. She could have taken a seat on the couch in the small sitting room the kitchen opened into, but she had no desire to be more than a few feet away from him.

“You started this before I even got home?” she asked, trying to compose herself as he worked.

He gave her another of the warm smiles she’d come to rely on in the week since the election disaster. Philip was always smiling, always telling her everything would be fine, always promising she could get whatever she needed through the House, always assuring her that he was proud and that he believed in her. She doubted she could have survived the last few days without him.

“Yes, I thought you might need it to steady your nerves. And I thought you might also need to eat.” He took a tin of tea biscuits out of one of the cabinets and added a few of them to the tray. “Your sugar’s probably low after all that.”

It was, she realized suddenly, and she recognized the heaviness in her body, the adrenaline rush having burned through the sugar in her bloodstream. Yet she’d been far too upset to notice, and his solicitousness triggered another sob as she began to thank him.

“Shh,” he said softly, coming to give her a quick hug and a kiss to her temple. “You’re all right.”

He helped her out of her jacket as the tea finished steeping, and she wiped her eyes as he poured two cups of tea, adding a bit of milk to his but leaving hers plain. Then he guided her, his hand on her back, over to the couch, where they sat down, the tray on the small table in front of them.

Philip leaned back, stretching his arm out so that she could settle against him, and she slid down on the couch, slouching slightly so that she could rest her head back against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked as she nibbled on a biscuit.

Theresa nodded, her tears having finally slowed. “This afternoon was awful,” she said quietly, thinking of the people she had met.

“I know.” He gently ran his hand up and down her arm. “No one should be treated the way you were today.”

The words were jarring, because she hadn’t meant the mob outside. “Oh…I meant inside the church, not outside. Everything I heard from the families and the survivors. It was _awful_ , Philip. I just…they’ve lost everything.”

He drew her closer and kissed her forehead. “Oh, my darling.” They sat in silence—his way was to give her space to speak if she wanted to, and she didn’t think she wanted to. She was haunted by the stories she’d heard, by the family members who’d been lost. She could try to comprehend losing everything she owned, but her mind refused to consider what it would be like to lose her only family—to lose Philip. And she’d seen more than one person in that situation today. She let herself draw peace from his presence, comforted beyond measure by simply resting against him.

“And then of course, we had to leave,” she said a moment later, her mind drifting back to what had happened outside. Philip kissed her again, and she realized her hands were shaking at the memory. She closed her eyes, trying to push the words she’d heard from her head.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “And I’m so sorry for what happened today. I wish…I wish I could _protect_ you. I _hate_ that I can’t protect you from any of this.”

She saw it all through his eyes suddenly, realizing that no man wanted to read such things in the papers about his wife. But his statement shocked her nonetheless—she’d felt so safe as soon as she’d walked in the door, and so taken care of as he’d held her and fed her and comforted her. And that was how it always was.

“You do protect me,” she said. “Of course you protect me!”

“I can’t—”

She sat up, wanting to look at him as she shook her head. “No, you do,” she said earnestly. “Of course you do. You take care of me, you look after me, you smile for me regardless of what happens, you hold me and you love me and you tell me you’re proud of me…of course you protect me!” She kissed him softly on the lips. “I couldn’t possibly feel any more protected than I do tonight.”


End file.
